He slides the folder across the small table of the back corner we’re occupying at the salsa club in an old part of town. Lower class residents are all that call this place home now. The crime rate is too great for the people that can afford to live in a safer place.
Gangs roam the streets around here after dark, looking for anyone stupid enough to be wandering around outside, unarmed, and away from public eyes. The rougher the area the better for me. I find owners that keep their eyes turned and mouths shut if you sling a few hundreds their way. “Four million dollars will be wired to your offshore account if you can get us the nuclear missile. Half when you send me the photos that you have it in your possession and the other half at transfer. Details and location are here.”
I stiffen as his thick accent coats every facet of my mind. He reeks of communism, hatred, and foreign money, but I’m not in this business to ask questions. I do this for one reason: security through stacks of cash.
I pick it up and open it, studying the details of the missile, where it’s currently being stored, and who’s guarding it. Delta is clenching onto my shirt beside me, not making a sound and looking off at the sweaty bodies on the dance floor.
I grip the back of her neck and pull her closer. She glances at me, the fear so thick I can smell it. That’s not good in these situations. It shows weakness. “Get up and go to the bar,” I whisper. “Find the woman in the tight, red dress and heels. Her name is Selena. Tell her I said to show you a good time and I’ll come find you.” She nods and goes to stand, but I stop her. “Do not go with anyone but her. Do you understand?”
“Okay,” she says, and I finally release her, watching her the entire way.
I turn back to him. He’s studying her in a way that I don’t like, making me uneasy. “What makes you think I can get something with this kind of clearance?” I ask, getting his attention once again.
“We have several contacts that pointed us to you. Each one of them said if anyone can get it, it’s you. We’re willing to pay to ensure it’s ours.”
“And if I’m not interested in the risk?”
He glances at the men flanking each side, then back at me. “We’ll just have to make sure the reward is worth the risk, Mr. Brannon. If time is what you need, you shall have it. I’m a patient man when it comes to something I want.” He opens the lapel of his jacket, pulling out a small flip phone. He lays it in front of me. “The number you need is already programmed. I trust that you’ll make the right decision. Price is negotiable. Present me with the details and we’ll go from there. I’ll be waiting for your call.”
He stands, seconds before his guards, and then they leave together. I lean forward, grabbing it, and holster it in my pocket, every flag going off in my head. For the first time in my life, I’m dreading a job offer, and I’ve done some fucked-up shit for a buck. The question on the table is will I listen to the chill running down my spine and turn down that big of a payout for the first time or will I risk everything and take it?
Three weeks. It’s been three weeks since that meeting and my mind is no closer to a decision than it was when I left that night. I haven’t even started recon to see if I want to commit to the job.
Something is causing me to stall. I never stall. My rules are simple: seal the deal, plan the job, secure the product and make it untraceable, deliver the order, receive the payout, forget the job ever existed. That’s it. No questions, no thinking, no fucking talking, and no judging the client.
My guys know the rules. Anyone breaks them they don’t get a slap on the wrist. They die. What the client does with the product after I’ve been paid is none of my business.
I stare at the coordinates on the computer for the tenth time in the last week. I pull up the file that wipes itself and the entire drive if this computer loses its power source.
The cursor hovers over my Russian contact. If I reach out, I can’t back out of this job. I’m not a patriotic man, but I certainly don’t hate my country either. It just turns a blind eye to a lot of people doing fucked-up shit to good people and kids.
Four mil isn’t worth something that could be termed as treason should I get caught. Being labeled a criminal and a terrorist are two very different things.
I put the screen on hibernate when a knock sounds at the door, opening at the same time. Delta peeks her head inside, her long, dark hair that I love falling in the open space. “Kross, can I come in?”
I glance up. When I do, she walks farther inside. I sit back in my chair, my elbow resting on the arm as I take in the black, silky nightgown that hits her thighs—way too long for home, but way too short for anywhere else. I wave her in. My eyes hone in on the outline of the nipple rings protruding from the thin material. Her cleavage seems overwhelming, bulging out of the top. Either she’s gaining weight in only her tits or that’s a smaller version of the nightgown I’ve seen several times. “You just take a bath?”
She blushes. “Yes. You weren’t in the living room when I got out.”
“You do something different?”
She crosses her arms over her chest, her shoulders folding in as if she’s cold. Her tits round even more at the top. Any higher and they’re going to pop out. Everything about her stance shows insecurity. “What do you mean?”
“Your skin looks different; shiny, maybe, but different.”
“I’m not wearing makeup.”
“This is different. I see you without makeup every night.”
She slumps. “Do you notice everything?”
“Yes.”
She breathes out. “Do I look bad? You’re making me nervous.”
“Just different.” My eyes go to her distracting tits again.
“Kross, you’re starting to shut me out again. Chicago happened, and it was . . . unforgettable. You’re different there. Which is surprising since that’s where . . . never mind. Since that weird meeting in the club you’ve been slowly shutting me out. Have I done something wrong? I thought we were finally getting somewhere.”
Those tits again. I bury my eyes in my hand, trying to get a fucking grip. She’s been in here all of two minutes and my cock is throbbing, thoughts running full speed in a different direction than what’s been occupying them for weeks. For years it was obedient; hated me, albeit, but obedient, and now suddenly it’s an asshole that can’t stay dry.
When I look at her she’s wearing unshed tears. I don’t understand these fucking emotional outbursts she has. “Come here, Delta.”
She rounds my desk, cautiously, before stopping beside my chair. I spin toward her, knees spreading apart as an invite. She walks between them when I tug the fabric that covers her navel. My palms lightly touch down on the back of her thighs, skating along the smooth, clean-shaven skin until they’re clamped around her hips, above the strings of her panties. She shivers. “I’ve had a lot on my mind. I’ve always been this way. Why would you think you’ve done something wrong?”
“We were having sex more, and now you’re backing off like before. Over time it’s becoming more scattered. It’s been a week. It makes me paranoid. Guys don’t backtrack . . . unless . . .”
“They’re fucking someone else?”
Her posture falls. “Yes.”
I pull her on my lap, her legs straddling mine. I slide my fingers under one strap, pulling it off her shoulder. “Is that why you’re wearing this instead of your normal pajamas? Even if I wanted to fuck someone else—I don’t—there’s no time. We’re always together.”
“I just thought maybe I’m getting too comfortable for you.”
“So you bought this?”
“No, I’ve had it.”
Before I can stop myself, her pierced tits are staring at me, my hand already wrapped around one, a hiss slipping through her lips. They’re heavier too. “Your tits are bigger.”
“We’ve been eating out more. Maybe that’s why.”
“It doesn’t show in your ass.”
“I don’t know, Kross, why are you so observant?”
“I have to be.”
She grips my shirt and removes it. “Why don’t you want me as much?”
“I was giving your body time to heal. I can’t keep my hands off them every time I see them.”
“It doesn’t matter. They’re still sore. I’d rather deal with it and know you want me. Had I known it would take this long to heal I might have rethought getting them so soon. No other piercing has healed this slow.”
My brows dip as I look at them. “They look exactly the way they’re supposed to look. They shouldn’t still be sore.” There is no crust at the puncture site. I turn one to ensure it doesn’t catch. It slides through with ease, but the clench of her hand on my shoulder is concerning. I drop my hand.
She masks the pain and grinds her middle against me, placing both of my hands on her breasts. “It’s probably just girl stuff then. All the more reason not to stop. I want you to touch me.”
I squeeze softly, before pulling her toward me, my mouth pressing against the warm, round globe, careful not to touch her nipples yet when what I want to do is bite the rings and tug. I’ve pierced a lot of nipples, but none have ever appealed to me like hers, and she doesn’t even have the barbell yet. One hand falls as my lips travel to hers, finding its way between her legs. I tug her panties aside and shove two fingers inside. They’re hugging her walls without even spreading.
When my knuckles press against her skin she gyrates against me, riding my fingers, her kiss becoming rough. Everything is liquid heat and swollen. What the fuck is going on with her body? She breaks. “Please fuck me. It’s not enough.”
The combination of everything is sending me into overdrive in a matter of seconds, and I snap.
My hand surges upward, sending her body higher long enough to pull my sweats down in the front. When she comes back down I’ve already got my fingers out and my cock ready. It disappears inside, and with the sound she makes, you’d think I just gave her a line of blow. I meet every rock with a thrust, her tits bouncing in ways they never have, making me fucking nuts.
I grab a ring in each thumb and forefinger and pull just enough for her to feel it. She cries out, but the result is her riding my cock so hard it feels like it’s seconds from breaking. The comforting, tight hold her pussy has on me causes me to blow. I grip her hips and hold her center against me, grinding her so hard her clit rubs against my pelvis until that beautiful face morphs into the one that makes me a little more psycho than I already am.
As everything stills, she looks at me, the words spilling from my lips as my mind works to figure out the fucking puzzle. “I don’t know what’s different, but I like it.”
She smiles and pushes off of me, fixing her panties back in place and pulling up her nightgown. Then she stands. “Happy Thanksgiving, Kross. I ordered a traditional meal since neither of us cook or have families to celebrate with. It was delivered before I came in here. I’ll be in the kitchen if you want to eat with me.”
She walks out.
Thanksgiving? Then I remember. One of those holidays normal people hype up that makes the rest of us cringe because I’m forced to close or I’m chalked up as being an extra-cruel asshole. Not that I care, but I could do without all the whining from employees that they are missing out on seeing their family that they don’t care to see any other time. It arrived without me even noticing. Normally, I’m prepared. This one is the worst one, because what in the fuck have I ever had to be thankful for? Not a damn thing, that’s for sure.
I pull my gray sweatpants back into place and stand. I do have something I don’t want to lose. Maybe that’s the same thing.
